Negotiations Amid the Ruins

At the top of the tower, the dozen or so figures clad in night gear showed no hesitation, no questions, and did not make a single unnecessary sound. Their forms vanished into thin air like specters, becoming shadows too elusive to catch as they melted into the torrential rain and the night—

But not all of them.

In the instant before disappearing, two figures paused very briefly, so briefly it was almost impossible to notice.

They landed in the shadow of a rooftop several hundred meters from the tower, rain streaming from the edges of their hoods.

One of them—code-named Crow—had once been a lowly wizard scraping by in Knockturn Alley. After a magical outburst caused a bloody incident, he had been wanted by the Ministry of Magic and nearly thrown into Azkaban. Fortunately, Madara had saved him and granted him a Sharingan. He tilted his head slightly, his voice kept very low, carrying a trace of hesitation that was difficult to detect.

"The pure-blood families... the Bosd Family, and those old families. Lord Madara's meaning is...?"

"It means it's time they learned who truly rules London now." The other figure—code-named Shadow—coldly cut him off. He had once been the captain of the Squib guard unit under the Yagyu Family, enduring the greatest pain during the modifications while displaying astonishing loyalty.

His voice came through the mask, carrying the slightly hoarse quality unique to Squibs after long years of silence, yet it was exceptionally firm. "What are you hesitating for, Crow? Because some of those families might contain your former 'masters'?"

Crow's body stiffened slightly.

"Those pure-bloods have never seen us as anything but tools, expendable materials." Shadow's voice turned colder, rain dripping from the breathing valve of his mask. "The Ministry of Magic? The Magic Institute? Which one of them ever gave trash with 'weak magical power' like us a second glance?"

He raised a hand and pressed it over his modified left eye through his clothing—where the familiar, faint pleasure brought by absorbing fear was flowing through him.

"Lord Madara gave us eyes, gave us power, gave us... dignity." He spoke the final two words softly, yet they carried immense weight. "Those pure-bloods want to 'discuss order'? Do they deserve to?"

Crow fell silent. Rain struck his shoulders in a fine, constant patter.

He remembered the days when he had hidden in Knockturn Alley like a rat. He remembered the looks those pure-blood wizards gave him, a mixture of pity and disgust. He remembered when Madara had pulled him from the Aurors' encirclement—there had been no judgment in those scarlet eyes, only the pure appraisal of something "useful."

Then he had gained power. Gained this eye... an eye that could make others fear him, that could make him strong.

"...You're right," Crow finally said in a low voice. His Sharingan, hidden beneath the shadow of his hood, glimmered faintly. "I was overthinking it."

Shadow said nothing more. He merely patted Crow's shoulder—a simple yet rare gesture. Then their figures blurred once more and vanished into the rainy night.

At the spot where they had been standing, rain continued to wash over the moss-covered rooftop.

In the distance, Big Ben's tower stood silently amid the downpour.

And atop the tower, Madara was still standing there, as though he had never left.

His Sharingan glimmered in the darkness, clearly "seeing" that brief scene and hearing the short exchange.

A cold curve formed at the corner of his lips, unseen by anyone.

Contradictions? Disagreements?

No. They were merely nourishment.

The finest catalyst to make these "tools" sharper and more fanatically loyal...

He turned around and gave one final look at the city beneath his feet, a city he was about to change completely.

Then his figure dispersed like smoke.

Only the torrential rain remained, continuing to scour every brick and stone of the ancient clock tower.

As though preparing to welcome—

A storm destined to overturn everything.

Bosde Manor stood at the edge of a desolate marsh in England.

Rather than a manor, it was more like a ruin forgotten and eroded by time.

The once-white marble walls had long been covered in dark stains and cracks. The untended gardens were gloomy and overgrown, while several ornamental pavilions had already collapsed halfway.

Everything silently told of the family's pitiable fate—they had tried to remain neutral amid the conflict between Grindelwald and Dumbledore, and later the war started by Voldemort. In the end, both sides had tacitly excluded them from the circle of core interests, and they had rapidly declined.

A black carriage pulled by Thestrals, bearing no family insignia, came to a silent stop before the manor's rusted gates.

Ryūichirō Uchiha and Kentaro Uchiha stepped down.

Ryūichirō wore a formal black montsuki haori and hakama, his back straight and a pair of dark sunglasses on his face.

Kentaro followed slightly behind him, still wearing that specially made black eyepatch. His exposed right eye was cold, and as it swept over the ruined sight before him, the corner of his mouth dipped almost imperceptibly.

The current head of the Bosde Family, old Avery Bulstrode, had long been waiting at the entrance with several servants. He wore a somewhat outdated but crisply pressed robe, his face piled with an enthusiastic smile that could not conceal his weariness.

"Welcome! Welcome, envoys of the Uchiha Clan, to my humble home!" Old Bosde hurried forward and bowed slightly, lowering himself considerably. "Mr. Ryūichirō, Young Master Kentaro, you must be tired from the journey. Please, come in. The banquet has already been prepared."

As his gaze passed over Ryūichirō and Kentaro's exquisite garments bearing the Uchiha fan crest, a trace of barely perceptible envy flashed through his eyes, though there was far more anxiety than envy.

Old Bosde left ahead of them to prepare for the banquet, while Kentaro and the others followed a servant through a hall so empty their footsteps echoed. Ryūichirō sharply noticed clear marks on the walls where portraits or decorations should once have hung, while the gold and silver ornamentation on several candlesticks and wall lamps seemed to have been carefully reduced in weight by human hands.

On the way to the banquet hall, Ryūichirō's hearing, far beyond that of an ordinary person, caught a hushed argument from behind a half-open door nearby.

"Father! We have to gain their support! They say the Uchiha Clan possesses unimaginable wealth! As long as a little slips through their fingers, it'll be enough to restore the manor and revive—"

"Shut up, Oliver! Keep your voice down!" It was old Bosde's voice, filled with exhaustion and helplessness. "I know! But what will it cost us? The Bosde Family may have fallen on hard times for now, but we are still one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight! We cannot appear too eager and lose our dignity..."

A trace of mockery flashed through Ryūichirō's eyes, though his face retained a proper smile, as if he had heard nothing. Open contempt, however, passed through Kentaro's single eye.

Dignity?

Before the Uchiha Clan's power and resources, the "dignity" of such a ruined household was simply laughable.

The banquet hall was equally empty and old.

Food had been laid out across the long dining table. Though there was a fair variety, the choice of ingredients and preparation clearly revealed a strained frugality.

Besides old Bosde, the host, and his son Oliver, there were representatives from three or four smaller families present—branch members of the Selwyn family, the Travers family, and the Carrow family.

Their gazes toward Ryūichirō and his son were filled with scrutiny and an inexplicable sense of superiority.

After several glasses of mead, the atmosphere grew a little livelier.

Oliver Bulstrode, a somewhat restless-looking young man, spoke first, attempting to take control of the conversation.

"Mr. Ryūichirō, as far as I know, the Uchiha Clan is a recently risen force. You may not understand that in the Wizarding World, especially the Wizarding World of the United Kingdom, there are certain... rules that must be followed."

The Travers family representative, a young wizard with a goatee named Alger Travers, slowly picked up the thread, his tone carrying a condescending air of "guidance."

"Oliver is right. Purity of blood is the foundation of nobility. We Sacred Twenty-Eight families have ancient legacies and deep foundations. Any new... partner who wishes to establish themselves here must receive our recognition and... guidance."

He deliberately emphasized "partner" and "guidance."

The Carrow family representative, a gloomy-faced woman named Bellatrix Carrow, added in a shrill voice.

"We have heard that the Uchiha Clan possesses certain... unique powers and resources."

"Sharing is the foundation of cooperation. After all, not just anyone is qualified to cooperate with us."